Footprints of a dove.

Footprints of a dove.




The prints are still there forever in my mind



The sprinklers overflow and water

still remains

enough to wet the sand to

mud the land around a

small section of

landscaping.

I saw the dove looking up at me,

as if to say yes I did these for you.

Then he left in a little flurry,

alittle hurry,

because I startled him.

He has no name but dove.



Charles Robert Hice



Copyright ©2006 Charles Hice

Lackluster Metabolic

Lackluster


Metabolic

Android unit

Cold heart formed to reach the nearest star after years of slow travel. Metabolic rates are cheaper for androids. Ache and want and even yearning are as nothing to the deep seated feeling of the bottom out of losing. AH but nothing can compare to the actual receiving when after a long absence she is finally there. Love has arrived. It has become Awards night. The speaker reads the poetry and pauses between each accent like a long winded pantamount. He has decided his award must be preceded with the Ovation of the Nation at least a discourse reading of his summation of this fellow and his poetry. The man is old homeless LogBlossem. His poetry spanned a period of years beginning and ending. About every subject. They rhyme. They make the reader think too much they blink. They spill time in lengths. They soon made the mistake of asking the poet to talk up at the podium. This long hair old man with the short body and the homeless hair. Standing in the winners circle finally. Eye paused my feelings and then eye began to speak in a rather odd voice not a squeak. Eye CHEATED. There was silence for the space. When eye made the Prize Winning poem eye took sentences from old poems eye have already written and formed this travesty of justice. Yes eye will go sit down. WAIT. The Judges of the event were all smiling. Whats wrong with that. The poems you wrote have your wording in them all the things that you made up so many years ago when added up together made this one deserving Award poem. And that is the simple story of the Poet Logblossem and how he won that Award for Poetry. After all there is no crime no foul ball when making poetry you learn. The Older you get the harder you age and yet that someday still comes. The crowd is roaring. The Award is thine. The shine lackluster. Metabolic.

Make NO Demands On Love

Make NO Demands On Love



My love she cares for me her health has always been so fragile of a thing she is my sole provider and yet eye will not ask her this time for she is healing and getting better and eye just do not want her to have to worry bout my necessity about my fodder.The alternative would be to worry her unnecessarily to make her think that all eye rally want is just her money eye am the monkey and eye can learn to do without before eye hurt her my very name is just default before eye rode the bus before she came to feather me eye walked and walk again is in the plans of this man soon when eye am broke again and can not get the ticket price eye will just make mention of the love eye have for her this seems like good advise to me it is after all just my own necessity not life and death to me but only riches in this world and we can always do without them eye learned how to march and hike and walk and that will help me in my daily grind the comings and the goings of my active poet mind please GOD oh LORD just let her headache become annoyed.

The Emperors Clothes and Clothier and Lady

The Emperors Clothes and Clothier and Lady




The Jacket:

the clothier is speaking first :

The Jacket has a certain flair the cuffs are French oh sire they blanch

when viewed from the side they staunch old wounds they positively howl...

The Jacket:

the emperor is reply

Are you sure that these cuffs are French eye simply LOVE the French

they make those ruffled potatoes and call them fries.

I LOVE to shoot these cuffs and preen and watch the Lady as she smiles.

The Lapels:

the clothier

the lapels are double wide to hide thy royal girth from mirth from jesters

as they toss the thorny crown underneath thy feet to trample under...

The Lapels:

the emperor

These wide lapels shall do just fine I LOVE to hook my thumbs in them with pride

and dance my way to where the Lady sits and smiles.

The Pants:

The clothier

the pants are pantaloons and round where they fit in areas of grotesque

anatomy such as an Empire dweller such as yourself seems to have

in the overabundance of wealth

The Pants:

the emperor

These pantaloons are round and very tight upon some parts of me

it makes me feel like quite the clown

but leave it as it seems they made the Lady smile again

The Lady:

as she frowns

leave off knave and let me tell the emperor the truth

the suit of clothing that you have been weaving

is in truth his birthday suit

The clothier:

in chagrin

thou hast blew it milady the emperor shall never have me again

The emperor:

mollycoddle chasten and depress

in truth I knew it was but a jest the wind was blowing against my chest

the cuffs were American not French

the color of the pantaloons was off

The Lady was smirking in a frown and not a smile.

eye

eye

entire yeppers entare

entotal yearning entotil

territorial yessing territoriol

technocolor yeilding yielding

theproblembiengaseyeseeit

eye the android having a woman as a best friend makes me almost human in mye thinking it is tainted as the motional side of man becomes the heart takes over the control and let me just add this when there is more then one of them in charge then who am eye to cause

eye have an alibi eye can account for my whereabouts last nite eye left three strands of DNA hangging from a branch on a small near bush just a little dew falling from the end of time iff eye were to paint you just one picture it would be the clouds of summer so white the darkness inside them the little patches of water make the contrast exciting me and you the tops of the clouds where the sun hits them hurts the eye see the reflected light each water drop flaming eye there is no whiter white unless its Jesus these clouds are hiding on top of the nearby buildings not daring to invade the total blue of the sky never have eye ever hated myself less then at this moment in time the colors of the clouds work dark and back to light eye hope that you are happy where you are and deep inside the clouds bring light

Love Pretended

Love Pretended






Hard so hard to explain a love intended not pretended not made up but made up of lots of stuff and made up of gentle rain tears falling in the dark remembering the suffering of the small child giving in to sin eye am a broken record not given much to change there was some blue purple flowers growing in the middle of my yard when my cat was still alive and eye was such a happy little man eye picked a longish bluebell and it was purple and white eye brought it to my nose and crushed it up to smell the parfume like a rose it was. Someday eye will have a wife just like my mother was to dad. A boy is bad and always into such stupid stuff. And that is when eye cried and then pretended love.

A Hero Dies

A Heroe Dies




A woman falls upon the casket of her late husband upon the flag of this his country. He was a soldier strained, trained no doubt to win his fight. I have no worries that he could reach his weapons upon his person of destruction to ascertain that EVERYTHING they afforded him was his to have to win his fight. Howsomever, we can discover and MOST of you will agree, He did NOT survive. A Heroe dies. It takes a different sort of man a kind of man made to survive. A civilian christian, forming weapons out of wind, and holding on to his religion,

when the fun begins. A man who walks with confidence and not a quiver in his liver,

as his lungs never suffer because he never lights a cigarette. Not over fond of anything, yet possessing everything. Mye abundance comes from LOVE.

A heroe dies. While some of us still try to live and love.



While Marine makes the final sacrifice.



Semper Fie.



A Heroe Dies.

Absense of Snow

Absense of Snow






The way is clear and not encumbered.

No shoving with my feet and labored,

breath.

I walk and smell no roses.

I feel my life instead of death.

The sky is blues and sunny.

The clouds are white and far away.

The snow is absent around about me.

I sense the absence of the snow.

It must be what Heaven will be.

No snow or ice or death.

I will kiss you all someday.

When I am there.

Gone away.

To rest.





Charles Robert Hice



Copyright ©2006 Charles Hice

RoseyisRed

RoseyisRed






Every joker on the street is replete in hating poets yes it seems to me the way it is they hate all knowledge of the poems.

Rosey is red and so is your nose they make a little fist to hit me.

Mabe my GOD will forgive thee. Some of the large ones are done a fist can be made only with one a poem of love is a better device than a fist made in ignorance and hate fills the heart of a man who hates GOD he was no poetry he has no love love is for sissy poems is for girlsss and they snear when they say it with snake hissing tones

they would be dangerous with some meat on they bones but boney is all they seem and poetry misses the dull attributes of a man intent on beer and cigarettes as a diet of lust and the fighting is just not respect some of them get tough on the street they make it seem rough with the missing parts and the scars oh it’s tough to survive in the dives and pool halls where they KING. My poem is complete when I’m done my nose has no scars from a fist and my ewe she is love.